ASOIAF fic: Enter Heaven in Muddy Shoes (2/2)

[vaznetti]

Part I


III The Narrow Sea

The ship rose and fell through the waves and the rigging creaked gently. There wasn't much wind yet, although the ship's master said that would change once they got past Gulltown and out into the Narrow Sea. There were no ships for Eastwatch, but he would go as far as White Harbor. When Brienne had asked whether they would be able to find a ship there to take them further north, he had shrugged and spat over the side. "I wouldn't go," he said, "not for all the gold in Casterly Rock." Brienne had sighed, and wondered how far it was from White Harbor to the Wall overland. She knew little about the North, but on the maps it had always looked very large.

She had led them back to Maidenpool as quickly as she could, leaving Ser Hyle and Dick Crabbe lying one beside the other beneath the weirwood tree. He had his castle in the end, she thought. She told Randyll Tarly that he'd died defending them from the three sellswords they'd found at the Whispers; he'd looked her up and down and told her that she should have learned her lesson, that it was time for her to stop playing at knights and go home to Tarth. When she closed her eyes at night and saw Ser Hyle's face, she wondered whether Lord Randyll had the right of it. But she'd sworn her vow, and sworn it again, and she would bring Arya Stark home.

They had discussed their quest on the night before they reached Maidenpool. She had offered to try to take Arya back to the Lord Beric and the Brotherhood. "They might have some reason to seek you still," she had said. Arya had frowned and been silent. "Or we might continue to search for Lady Sansa," she had said, more to fill the silence than because she had any idea where to look. "No," Arya had finally said. "If Sansa is alive, she'll be trying to go home too."

It had been their only real conversation since the fight at the Whispers; that first night she had tried to speak to Arya about the man she had killed, to apologize for letting a gently-bred girl into such a situation in the first place. "I don't care," Arya had said. "I've killed men before, I told you. You fought well, though," she had added. "Better than the Hound did, but he was drunk."

What horrors, Brienne wondered now, had the girl been through to leave her so hardened? Lady Catelyn, she thought, if only you were here to tell me how to reach her. Arya spent more time with Pod than she did with her: they were currently halfway up the rigging with two of the ship's boys. She wanted to call Arya down, to tell her it was dangerous, but she knew it was no more dangerous than anything else they had done -- anything else they were doing. No more dangerous than fighting against Vargo Hoat's men, or taking on an anointed knight.

Brienne wasn't sure why Ser Hyle's death bothered her so. She kept thinking of the little gifts he had given her, treats for her horse more often than anything for her. "A knight needs a good horse," he had said when she asked him about them. "And a happy horse is more likely to be a good horse than an unhappy one." He had been kind in his way, she thought, and he had never hurt her, not really.

Arya grabbed a rope and swung across to the rigging on the other side of the ship; she balanced there and shouted to Pod to join her. Brienne started to stand, to call them down, but the helmsman beat her to it, shouting at his boys and at Arya and Pod as well. Pod clambered down carefully the whole way, but Arya swung out and dropped to the deck like the ship's boys.

Brienne turned away to stare at the waves and the hazy mountains of the Eyrie in the distance. Arya came to sit next to her. "I'm sorry I killed that knight," she said. "I didn't know he was your friend, and I thought he was planning to rob us."

"I know," Brienne said. "He wasn't really a friend."

"Pod said you didn't like him when he was alive."

Brienne sighed. "I didn't really know him."

"But you had to lie to Lord Tarly. You told him Ser Hyle killed the Bloody Mummers, not you. You and me."

"Lord Tarly would never have believed that I could kill them, and I didn't want him thinking at all about you." She didn't think Tarly had noticed anything more than a grubby servant in Arya Stark. She had hoped he wouldn't, fearing that her letter from King Tommen would not be enough to protect them. And in truth she had not cared to claim her dead: I did not hesitate, she thought. Neither had Arya.

"Still, you were better than he was. Better than the Bloody Mummers, too. I didn't know that ladies could be knights. Maybe I could be a knight someday too."

"My lady, I don't know..." Brienne was sure that this was not what Lady Catelyn intended for her daughter. No more than her own mother had, at least, but perhaps it would be better for Arya to train at arms, to have some discipline to contain her anger. She wished she could be a better model for the girl, but Arya seemed to see only the sword and the armor, and not the vows and ideals which they should serve.

"I told you I'm not a lady. I'll be a knight, and have a sword like yours, as well. Where did you get it? Does it have a name?"

"I..." Brienne trailed off. "Its name is Oathkeeper, for the vow I swore Lady Catelyn, to protect you and your sister."

"Can I see it?"

There was no way to refuse. Brienne went below and brought it up, Jaime's voice ringing in her ears. You'll be protecting Ned Stark's daughters with Ned Stark's own steel. It had sounded noble at the time, but she hadn't thought of having to explain it to them.

"It's Valyrian steel," Brienne said as Arya stood and raised the sword with both hands. "Be careful of the edges."

"I know that," Arya said. "Why is it that color?"

In the sunlight, the black and red running through the blade seemed clearer than ever, as if it was already running with blood. Already, or still. "I don't know," Brienne said.

Arya handed the sword back. "My father had a Valyrian greatsword," she said. "Ice. The Lannisters stole it when they killed him. Ser Ilyn has it. When I kill him, I'll get it back."

Brienne's tongue felt thick in her mouth. "I'm sorry, my lady."

Something of her distress must have shown through her voice because Arya looked up. "It's not your fault," she said. "You aren't really a Lannister. You were just pretending, like I was, when I was Arry and Weasel."

Brienne shook her head: another of Arya's strange references to the time when she was in hiding. She would speak as if she expected Brienne to know what she was referring to, but if Brienne asked her about it, she would close her mouth and turn away. "My lady--"

"I told you not to call me that," Arya said.

"My lady," Brienne continued, "I do know what happened to your father's sword. It was melted down, and two blades forged from it. This... this is one of the two."

Arya stared at her, her forehead wrinkled. "How did you get it?"

There was a lump in Brienne's throat to match the one in her stomach. Arya was standing very still, and Brienne knelt down again, holding the sword before her. Was Arya remembering their first meeting, she wondered, on the deck of that Braavosi ship? She had been lucky to find her, and even more lucky that Arya had acknowledged her; she might reject her now, she thought, and then where could they go? They were trapped together on this ship. "When your mother charged me to return Ser Jaime to King's Landing, she made him swear an oath to give me you and your sister in return. To exchange himself for you." Arya frowned. "But when we reached the city, your sister was fled, and the Lannisters believed you lost or dead. He could not fulfill his oath, so he gave me the sword and told me to find your sister, and to keep her safe."

"He's a liar," Arya said, and kept going over Brienne's attempt to protest. "He killed Jory! He probably killed Sansa too, and he tried to kill my father! Ser Ilyn used Ice to cut off his head, and then they ruined it! I hate them all -- and you're one of them! You're serving them!""

"Lady Arya, no! I swore my oath to your mother." And failed her, just as I failed Renly, she thought. But I won't fail you. I can't. She reached a hand out to Arya. Instead of taking the hand or shrinking back, Arya threw herself at Brienne, punching her hard in face. Brienne rocked back on her knees, the sword dropping from her other hand as she raised it to protect her face, and Arya kicked her in the stomach. She gasped, and Arya punched her again. Brienne's eyes were full of tears: she blinked them away and saw Arya poised for another kick: she threw herself to the side, and rolled up onto her feet. You're a knight, she thought, a fighter, although she'd never imagined having to fight a ten-year-old girl. Arya danced away the first time she tried to grab her, and Brienne had to kick Oathkeeper out of the way when she saw the girl move toward it. The steps took her close enough to Brienne for her to catch Arya by her right arm, and though the girl kept hitting her with her left -- she was strong, Brienne thought -- and kicking at her, Brienne quickly got both arms around her and held her too close to hurt her any more. "I'm your knight," she said, "just as I was your mother's."

"My mother is dead," Arya said. "I was almost there, and they killed her, and the Hound wouldn't help me save her, and now you're not going to help me either. You're just going to hand me over to the Lannisters!" Her voice was thick and Brienne could feel tears soaking into her shirt.

"I won't betray you," Brienne said, her voice choked with more than pain. "I wish I had been there as well. I wish I had been there to save her, or to die by her side." She wasn't restraining Arya now, just holding her, feeling the other girl's body shake and shake in her arms. I failed her, she thought again, but I won't fail you. For Lady Catelyn, for Ser Jaime, for my own honor, I will see you safely home.

IV Near Snakewood

The ship rolled them up and down, back and forth: one end of the cabin tilted up and then the other, and they held onto the bunk and each other as tightly as they could. A sudden lurch sent Pod flying out of the bunk: he slid all the way across the cabin and into the far wall, and had to crawl back, clutching his arm, so that Arya and Brienne could pull him back up to the bunk.

"Are we going to die, my lady?" he asked.

"It's just a storm," Brienne said. "It will pass." There was a huge crash then, and the sound of splintering wood, and something fell onto the deck above their heads, smashing a hole in the corner of their ceiling so that rain began to fall properly into the cabin, not just dripping through the boards here and there as it had done all night.

"I'm going up," Arya said. She had felt all night like a mouse hiding in her hole, but even a mouse wouldn't stay in a hole like this.

"My lady," Brienne said, "don't. It's dangerous up there."

"It's dangerous in here too," she said. She didn't bother telling Brienne she wasn't a lady any more; she never remembered. "And we're already wet. If we're going to die I want to see what's happening."

"We're not going to die," Brienne said, but she didn't look confident.

The captain had told them to stay inside but that was before the outside had tried to come in, as far as Arya cared. She jumped down from the bunk and slipped and staggered out of the cabin and up the little ladder. When she poked her head out onto the deck, black water washed over it, making her splutter and choke and nearly sending her back down again. Then lightning split the sky and she saw the broken mast, the top half of it hanging by the ripped sail over the deck. With a great creaking noise the sail ripped further and the mast and spars rolled back toward the stern. In the dark she could hear the sailors rushing to tie it down, slipping as rain and sleet fell onto the deck.

Pod pushed up next to her. "Let me see," he said. Another flash of lightning: they saw heavy grey clouds, snowflakes mixing with the rain.

"Get down!" a sailor shouted to them; they ducked back into the hold as a piece of sail and spar came lashing out over the hatch, washing them with cold salt water.

Brienne pulled them the rest of the way down. "Let the sailors do their work!"

"We're going to sink!" Arya shouted.

Brienne held her and Pod close as another wave sent them sliding and stumbling together. "We're not going to sink. It's just a winter storm."

"Are you sure?" Arya asked. The ship tilted again, knocking them into a wall, then sending back to the other wall as another wave hit.

"We're safer in the cabin," she said, pulling them back. Arya glanced back longingly to the ladder and the hatch: she hated the dark little cabin, hated not being able to see what was happening.

"Even if the ship sinks?" Pod asked.

"It won't sink," Brienne said again.

She was right, although when Arya asked her later how she had known, she just smiled weakly. They huddled together on the bunk, under their damp blankets, watching rain and snow fall through the hole in the ceiling, until the ship stopped trying to toss them out and a cold grey light played over the wet floor. When they came out onto the deck they could see half the mast still standing, jagged where it had broken, and the sail rolled on the deck. A steep pine-covered shore lay just off the right-hand side of the boat, running down to a narrow rocky beach, and another could be seen far away to the left. When Brienne came back from talking to the captain she told them that they were near a castle called Snakewood, which owed fealty to the Vale. "There's a fishing village further up, where he thinks the carpenter can fix the mast."

They anchored near the village, about twenty houses in a jumble on the hillside leading down to a little harbor. Above them was a wooden watchtower, its roof falling in. Arya and Pod ran up the hill to look at it anyway, and to climb the ladder up to the platform. There was a pile of wood and tinder on it, wet with snow under the broken roof. "A signal-fire," Brienne said when they told her about it, "probably in case they see pirates coming."

She was wrapping a cloth around her hands, which were blistered from sawing wood for the carpenter. He and the captain were making everyone work: even Arya was given a needle and a piece of sail to mend. She had gone red when the sailors had mocked her stitches, and even redder when she saw how even theirs were. Maybe that's where Sansa is, she thought, mending sails somewhere. They'd like her.

"Did my mother really want to exchange the Kingslayer for me and Sansa?" she asked Brienne now.

Brienne looked up from her hands. "Yes," she said. "She was... She had just learned of your brothers' deaths, and was terrified that she would lose you two as well."

"Me and Sansa," Arya said again. "Not just Sansa?" Because her mother had always loved Sansa more, she thought. Sansa was easy to love. Even though Joffrey hadn't loved her, from what Pod said. But that was because there was something wrong with Joffrey, not because of Sansa. But everyone else loved Sansa.

"Oh," Brienne said. "No. No, she spoke of both of you. She said you were half a boy, and your hair was a mess, and she would have given anything to hold you again."

Arya sniffed. "I would have let her brush my hair," she said. She rubbed her face with her sleeve and sniffed again.

"I could brush it for you," Brienne said after a little while. "If you like."

Arya looked at her. "Do you have a brush?" she asked.

"I--" she smiled, suddenly. "No, my lady, I don't. My own mother died when I was small, and I fear I never learned how to be a proper lady."

"Neither did I," said Arya. "But if I had one I would let you, too." She stared at Brienne a while. "Did you decide to become a knight because you were so tall, or did you grow tall because you wanted to be a knight?"

Brienne looked down at her hands again. "I was always too big and ugly to be a proper girl," she said. "But I am fast, and strong. My master-at-arms said I was stronger than many men, even as a girl."

"Syrio Forel said I was too small to fight like a real knight. He taught me water dancing, instead, like they do in the Free Cities." She looked down at the ground. "Ser Meryn killed him." There was a lump in her throat. "Maybe... maybe you shouldn't take me with you."

"What do you mean?" Brienne asked.

"Yoren was going to take me home, but Amory Lorch killed him. And..." And Jaqen H'ghar had died too, sort of, and Gendry and Hot Pie had left her. Even the Hound had been trying to take her home when he died. "Maybe I'm not supposed to go home." She had heard Roose Bolton's men talking about how Winterfell had been sacked, but that couldn't be right. It had to still be there, even if she could never get to it. "Maybe you should look for Sansa instead."

Brienne's forehead was wrinkled. "My lady, do you want to stay in the South and keep looking for your sister? We don't have to go back onto the ship, although without our horses we will go slowly. But these are Arryn lands, and Lord Robert is your cousin. You might seek help from him."

Arya sighed. There was no point trying to get Brienne to understand. Instead she tried to think of what she knew of Robert Arryn. The Hound had wanted to take her to him, but they couldn't get through the passes. Had Septa Mordane or her mother ever talked about him? She didn't think so, and she definitely didn't remember. "I don't know him," she said. "Why would he help me?"

"People do help each other, sometimes," Brienne said. "I gave you my word, Lady Arya. I won't desert you."

"You won't want to," Arya said. "But you might have to."

"No," Brienne said. "I found you, and I won't leave you. I will take you wherever you want to go."

"I want to go home," Arya said. Brienne put her arm around her, and Arya didn't move away. Maybe it would be good to have Brienne and Pod in her pack. Maybe they would stay with her, all the way to Winterfell.

V White Harbor

The flag flying over the castle in White Harbor declared the Manderlys' loyalty to the Iron Throne. "We'll need to be careful," Brienne said as they disembarked. Arya was still dressed in her boy's clothes; Brienne was unsure how much the ship's captain and crew had understood or guessed of her identity, but it would be best to hide away as soon as they could. After those weeks on the beach near Snakewood, the crew knew that Arya was no boy, and had heard her called "my lady" as well as "Weasel" often enough to know that she was well-born herself. Brienne was grateful for the report that Arya Stark was to wed Ramsay Bolton: Lord Wyman, she had heard, had left only two days before, to see the wedding. With that news on every tongue she doubted that anyone would guess Arya's true identity, but even so she wished the town were bigger and easier to disappear in. She had asked the captain to suggest an inn or two for them, noting to herself to avoid those places at all costs.

The harbor was full of boats, but mostly small vessels, suitable for sailing in the waters of the firth and around the Sisters, but not for the long journey up to Eastwatch. There were three merchants, taking furs to Braavos, Lorath and down to Gulltown. "With winter coming, it's a sure way to make a profit," the captain told her. "I'll be doing the same now." She asked the sailors she met whether ships ever went up to Eastwatch, but the men at the harbor shrugged in pretended ignorance. She felt them staring at her as she walked away.

This was a bad idea, she thought. It was all too easy for them to be betrayed, and though she had King Tommen's letter in her bag she was not sure that it was proof against the Boltons. And what if they could find no ship to take them further North? Snow was already thick on the ground here in White Harbor, piled in the streets and against houses. They would die before they reached the Wall on horseback. Perhaps they should take ship across the Narrow Sea, and try from there to reach Eastwatch: perhaps traders went from Braavos or Lorath that far North in search of furs and amber. Yes, she thought, that might be best, if she could persuade Lady Arya to agree. It had been hard enough to persuade her to stay at the inn while Brienne looked for a ship: to be so near her home and then to leave it would be hard for her to accept. Brienne had heard her telling Pod about Winterfell, and about her half-brother Jon.

She planned her case as she walked back to the inn, and the distraction was her undoing. She noticed too late the men clustered by the door. "Lady Brienne?" one of them said.

"I don't--" she began, but it was no use.

"It's Brandon Flint," he said, still friendly, but the men behind him had their hands at their swordbelts. Could she kill them all and escape, Brienne wondered? No, even if she won the fight she would never have time to get Arya and Pod and get away with them. And where could they go? Failed, she thought, you have failed them again. King Renly, Lady Catelyn, and now Arya Stark. "We met in Riverrun, when you were there with Lady Catelyn. My brother Derrik was one of Ser Wendel's men."

"I remember him," Brienne said automatically. "Is he well?"

"He died at the Red Wedding," Flint said, "he and Ser Wendel both." His voice was hard now.

"I am sorry to hear it, ser. They were loyal men." And if Ser Wendel had been here, she might have appealed to him: he knew her loyalty to Lady Catelyn. She flinched inwardly at the coldness of the thought: Ser Wendel deserved better of her.

"Loyal," Flint said. "Yes, they were that." He turned back to his men. "Bring her, and her two boys. Ser Wylis wants to see you," he added. "He will want to talk to you about loyalty, as well."

Pod stopped trying to fight when Brienne told him to, but Arya didn't: they had to wrestle her long knife away from her, and four of Flint's men had bruises and cuts to show for it. They bound her hands, and one of them struck her on the head in return for his own wounds. Brienne swallowed a cry as she staggered under the blow, but Arya just scowled and let them drag her along.

They were marched through White Harbor: the townsfolk watched them cautiously, interested but not afraid. And why should they be, she thought. All they saw were some outsiders being taken away by their lord's men: none of their business. She wondered for a moment what would happen if she shouted that she had Arya Stark with her. Nothing but a knife or a blow, she guessed.

The great hall of the Manderly castle was like no room Brienne had ever seen: made of wood joined like the hull of a ship, the walls and floor and ceiling painted with all the shapes and colors of the sea. Fish swam past, kelp swayed, a wreck fell silently apart beneath her feet; if she looked up she could see the shadows of fishing-boats and nets. It reminded her, quite suddenly, of her home, of the sparkling seas around Tarth, and the days she had spent as a child fishing from small boats alongside her father's men, or playing in the waves as the summer sun turned everything blue and gold. She wondered if her father thought her dead already, or if he would ever hear of her fate.

The hall was nearly empty, but there were men-at-arms at the door, and a cluster of men she supposed were Manderly knights by the dais; one or two of their faces looked familiar to her. Further down the room were a few older women, and on the dais two girls. Before them sat a tall man, big-boned, but with sunken cheeks; the chair he sat on was much too wide for him.

"Lady Brienne," the man on the dais said, "I am surprised to find you lurking in the town. You might have claimed guest-right here in the New Castle."

"Ser Wylis," Brienne said, hoping that she had guessed his identity right. "I thank you. I was sorry to hear of Ser Wendel's death."

"Were you indeed," the man said. "I wonder."

Brienne stood straighter, wishing her sword were still at her belt. "My lord?"

"The rumor in the North is that you changed your allegiance. That you connived in Jaime Lannister's escape, and were travelling with him."

Brienne flushed. "Lady Catelyn charged me to take him to King's Landing, and to exchange him for Lady Sansa and Lady Arya. Lord Bolton sent his own men-at-arms from Harrenhal to see us safely there." It was not quite the truth: Lord Bolton had sent Jaime south, and for his own reasons. He had handed Brienne to Vargo Hoat, and it had been Jaime who had insisted on rescuing her. Hoat was dead now, but she feared that she was all too likely to be handed back to Lord Bolton.

"And they have returned to the North with Lady Arya," Ser Wylis said. "So why have you come here? Your quest is over, it seems to me."

She could hear Arya fidgeting behind her. Stay quiet, she thought, please, Arya. "I cannot... I cannot disclose my quest, Ser Wylis. I am seeking passage to the Wall, to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea."

"To take the black?" one of the men by the dais asked. She heard quiet laughter from the men by him, and the women behind her, and flushed again.

"I may not speak of it, sers. But I have a letter in King Tommen's name, charging all to aid me and forbidding any from hindering me."

Wylis smiled. "What makes you think the Lannister king's writs hold force here, my lady?"

"The flag..." Brienne stopped. "I don't understand, my lord."

"My loyalty is not the question here," Ser Wylis said. "Yours is. Ser Jaime was not Lady Catelyn's prisoner to release. When you agreed to her plan -- when you defended him from the men sent to retrieve him -- you betrayed her king, and through her your own. King Robb."

"Perhaps you even persuaded Lady Catelyn to free Ser Jaime," said one of the girls. "Perhaps you meant to betray King Robb all along."

The conversation was moving too fast for Brienne. "My lady, no. I swore my oath truly to Lady Catelyn."

"But now you serve the Lannisters, it seems. Did you not collude with the Freys and Boltons when they planned to betray the North?"

"My lord, I did not! I--"

"She is loyal!" Arya shouted from behind her. "Don't hurt her!"

"Quiet that boy," Wylis said.

"I'm not a boy!" Arya said. "You have to listen to me!"

Brienne turned to see her struggling as two men-at-arms held her back and pushed her toward the door. "My la--" She stopped herself, hoping her slip had been hidden in the clamor. "Please!"

Arya twisted back and shouted, "Weasel soup! Weasel soup!"

One of the knights standing by the dais stepped forward and raised his hand. "Wait," he said to the men at arms. "Bring him-- bring her here. What did you say, girl?"

"Weasel soup," she said again. Brienne had no idea what she meant, and yet it seemed to have worked. "He was in Harrenhal." She gestured at Wylis Manderly. "He was always hanging around the kitchens, looking for food." Someone in the hall laughed. "Hot Pie told me. And you were there too, in the dungeons. You looked younger then."

"I do remember you," the man said. "Nan, was it? You helped Vargo Hoat's men free us, and hand the castle to Lord Bolton."

"It was my idea," Arya said. "I made Jaqen H'ghar help, and the others. But you didn't notice me."

Ser Wylis was leaning forward in his chair. Now gestured to the men-at-arms. "You may go," he said to them, and settled himself back as they left. "Lady Brienne, what did you call this girl?"

Brienne could feel her face turning red again. "Her name is Weasel, Ser Wylis."

"I don't think it is. I think you were about to call her something else. What is your name, child?"

"Nan," Arya said. "Like I told that knight, and Lord Bolton. My mother named me Nymeria, but she called me Nan."

Wylis stepped off the dais and came to stand before Arya. "I have two daughters myself," he said, "Wylla and Wynafryd." He glanced back to the dais. "Come here, girls." Then he turned back to Arya, lowering himself onto one knee to look into her face. "They are both very brave, and Wylla especially loves listening to tales of Queen Nymeria. But I do not think that was the name your mother and your father gave you."

Arya looked around the room, and then back at Ser Wylis. Brienne saw the other man who had spoken come forward to look at her closely. His face grew pale and he too got down on one knee.

"All the men and women in this room are members of my household," Ser Wylis said. "I trust them as I do my own family. We are all bound by the oaths our ancestors swore, to remain loyal to the Starks. I knew your father, my lady. I fought for him in the Greyjoy Rebellion. You look very like him."

The other man agreed. "I wonder that I didn't see it before: you look like him, and like Lady Lyanna did."

Arya looked very small, standing there and chewing her lip. Brienne went to stand nearer, and the girl said, "Are you really loyal to Robb? To King Robb, I mean."

"We are, my lady," Ser Wylis said. "I swear it, on my life and the lives of my daughters here, by the old gods and the new."

Arya took a deep breath. "I am," she said. "I am Arya Stark."

"But how?" one of the girls asked, not the one who had spoken before. The younger, Brienne thought: her hair was in a long braid, dyed bright green. "Who was sent to Winterfell?"

"I can answer that," Brienne said. "A northern girl found at King's Landing. Jaime Lannister told me so himself."

"And gave you the real Arya?" Wylis Manderly asked. "That seems hard to believe."

"No, my lord. The Lannisters believe Lady Arya dead." Brienne swallowed; her voice sounded small, echoing through the great hall. I'm sorry, Jaime she thought. But you asked me to keep my oath. She hoped that they were not all about to be slain, or worse, sent in chains to Roose Bolton.

"And the Boltons know this," Wylis said.

"Yes, my lord," she said. "At least, I think so. Ser Jaime said it did not matter to them."

Ser Wylis stood. "There is much here I do not yet understand," he said, "and I would speak more privately with these ladies. The rest of you," he glanced down the hall to the knights and ladies gathered there, "will speak nothing of this, on pain of death. Am I understood?" There was a murmur of assent. "My lady, will you accept the hospitality of the Manderlys? We may not be able to declare for you openly yet, but I have news you should hear."

Arya nodded. "I wanted to go to Eastwatch, because my brother Jon is at the Wall. But the Night's Watch takes no part."

"But we do," Wylis said. "We do take part."

Epilogue

It was strange to have to be a girl all the time; Needle kept getting tangled in Arya's dresses, although Ser Wylis had found a man to make a sheath for it and a belt for it to hang from. Brienne didn't have to wear dresses: she kept her armor and her new sword, so that she could guard her all the time. And it was strange to spend so much time with girls now, although Wylla and Wynafryd weren't too bad; she could get rid of Wynafryd by telling her stories about Harrenhal or the Bloody Mummers or Ser Gregor, but Wylla would just turn pale and ask for more.

They had heard the whole thing, anyway, when she told Ser Wylis and Robett Glover, the man from the dungeons: how she had lost Nymeria, and all about Yoren and Amory Lorch and Ser Gregor and Vargo Hoat and the Hound and Lord Beric. She hadn't told them about Jaqen H'ghar and her three names, though, or about the coin he had given her: there were still ships going to Braavos from White Harbor, and she might still need it someday. And they had told her about Bran and Rickon, and brought the boy Wex in to draw his pictures for her.

They were waiting for the smuggler, now, for King Stannis' man, although they had had a raven from Winterfell claiming that Stannis was dead and demanding that they find the other Arya, who had run away. That day there had been a meeting, Ser Wylis and Ser Marlon and Robett Glover, and one or two more; she and Brienne had been there too, but not the girls or their mother. Ser Wylis had wanted to bring the Boltons down to White Harbor by telling them that they had Arya Stark -- it was true, anyway -- but Ser Marlon and Robett had persuaded him to wait, although Ser Marlon had talked a lot about his dead sister Donella and how Ramsay Bolton had killed her to get her lands.

The Manderlys had long memories, too. Arya liked that, even though they didn't want her to leave the castle. It didn't matter. Quiet as a shadow, Arya had stolen some of Pod's new clothes and crept through the halls at night, down to the kitchens and store-rooms and the passages which led straight down to the harbor. She had smelled the water at the end, and seen the crates and barrels carried up in the hours before dawn, when the fires were lit to make the day's bread. And no one stopped her from walking up on the ramparts and looking out down the first to the sea, or up through the mountains toward Winterfell, although Brienne didn't let her balance on the walls.

That was where she was, Needle in one hand and her skirts in the other, practicing, when a small, battered ship rowed slowly up the firth and limped into the harbor. Arya stopped what she was doing and looked down as the crew tied up to the central dock, and a man walked down the ramp, hand in hand with a little boy, and a woman and a great black wolf following behind.

End.